Page 200 of Dark Night of the Soul

I didn’t answer. There was nothing to deny. Her mother had seen it. She knew it. Now she was making me say it. She was walking the line like a dare—like she always did, with everyone—and she wasn’t going to flinch first.

She looked away again, back to the fountain, like it had the answer she was waiting for. It didn’t. I did.

“You don’t have to say—”

“I do,” I cut in.

She went still.

I closed the distance and caught her face in my hands, thumbs steady on her chin. Her eyes were shiny and dark. Waiting. Vulnerable. Trying not to show it.

“You impossible, beautiful thing,” I said, low. “I loved you the second you pepper-sprayed me.”

My eyes had burned for an hour. My pride for longer. But I’d gotten over both. She’d said sorry like it mattered, then ran like it didn’t and I’d never been able to decide which part I respected more. All I knew was she’d thrown down a challenge, and I’d decided to take it.

And before she could give me a smart-ass reply, I kissed her—quick, contained. Then I felt her give, heard the small sound she tried to contain, and I went back in, slower, heavier.

When I pulled back, she didn’t step away. She leaned into me instead, forehead brushing my chest, and whispered, “No backsies.”

“Good,” I said. “Because you’re stuck with me.”

She laughed softly. Then, “Take me home. I’m ready.”

“We can leave at first light.”

“We should tell the others,” she said. “They’ll need time to prepare.”

“They’re already prepared. They knew before you did.”

“They knew I’d tell them to come?” There was a smile in her voice.

“They were taking bets on how long it would take.”

Ludwig lost. He’d bet another week.

I held her there as the first drops of rain began to fall, and for once I didn’t move us out of it.

Chapter 52 | Anna

We didn’t leave at first light. It was two days.

Two days of agonized waiting. I hated waiting for anything. Especially when the thing I was waiting for was home.

Kincade had said first light like it was a done deal. Calm voice, steady hands, as if the world obeyed him. It usually did. Annoying.

But “prepared” was his religion. I was the convert he’d decided to save. And apparently he was making me prove I could survive two days without setting something on fire. I’d been close. Twice.

The worst part? I couldn’t even be properly furious, because every time I tried, my brain served up the memory like a traitor. His hands on my face, his mouth on mine, and that low, ruthless truth. It had knocked the air out of me. I loved you the second you pepper-sprayed me.

Who says that? Who confesses love like that?

An ancient man with baggage, that’s who.

And then, like it was a binding spell, my own stupid whisper in his chest, No backsies.

Of all the things I could have said.

God, I was ridiculous.